’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left.
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